See you on the other side
by knuckleduster
Summary: One-shot about Soap shortly after Endgame. Very clearly implied Soap/Ghost pairing.


**A/N:** So, a one-shot showing a bit of how Soap's coping with the aftermath of the events of MW2. Might be slightly too... sappy? for some, but I hope you still enjoy it.

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><p>"Soap, wake up."<p>

_... Somebody calling...?_

"Oi, Soap! Open those eyes already."

_I... know that voice..._

"Bloody hell, mate. I'm gonna leave if you don't get up right now... _John_!"

Soap's eyes flew open and he instinctively tried to sit up, only to realize his body wouldn't move.

"My pretty voice got through to you then, eh?"

Unable to do nothing but turn his head, Soap focused his eyes to the dark lump sitting on the bed he was laying on. His head was pounding but there wasn't any actual pain. Everything seemed to be overly bright and in slow-motion, and he couldn't find a single comprehensible thought from his mind.

"What...?" Soap managed to utter out a word. The room was spinning in his eyes but suddenly the character next to him became crystal clear, and it took him no time at all to recognize the man. "Simon!"

The Lieutenant chuckled, but there was a hollow echo. "Aye. Had to come and check on you."

Soap still couldn't get his head straight. He stared at the skull-patterned face and the sunglasses (had they always been so blood-red?) for a long moment before the realization hit him. "But you're-"

Ghost's finger pressed lightly against the Captain's lip, hushing him. Soap wanted to smack the hand away and finish his sentence, wanted to demand an answer and shake the man for pulling a stunt like that, but his muscles refused to obey once again.

"You're a mess, John," Ghost stated something Soap had already been hearing for days. "Pull yourself together, will ya? For me."

"How?" Soap breathed, feeling his energy draining. It was still bright, spinning and unreal, but he couldn't have cared less. Simon was there. He'd go through any amount of fatigue to _keep_ him there.

"C'mon, you'll figure something out." That hollow chuckle again. "You're John MacTavish, you can survive anything," Ghost continued with a much gentler voice.

"I-" Soap pushed his willpower to the limit and still couldn't move. If anything, Ghost was getting blurrier.

"Don't say anything," Ghost hushed him again. "I know," he sighed, his voice so filled with sorrow it made Soap ache even through the dulling haze. The Lieutenant laid his hand on Soap's arm and looked over his shoulder at something the Captain couldn't see.

"Don't go," Soap pleaded quickly, sensing what was about to come. Ghost turned back to look at him. "Don't go."

"I gotta, John. I'd stay if I could but... it's time," Ghost's voice turned into a whisper. He gave a light squeeze on Soap's arm before standing up.

The Captain frowned and tried to reach out. "Simon, please!" he was surprised to hear his own voice so loud and there was no way Ghost couldn't have heard him. The man didn't stop. "Don't leave me again!" Soap shouted again, his eyes burning as the lights got brighter and Ghost's back grew more distant.

"See you on the other side, eh, John?" the Lieutenant's voice came from somewhere in the blur.

"No!" Soap shouted from the top of his lungs. "Don't turn your back on me, Ghost! I'm your captain and I'm ordering you to come back!"

The spinning got quicker and after a few blinks all Soap could see was white light.

"Ghost!" His voice started to break down. No answer.

"_Simon!_" It was pure despair now.

"_SIMON!" _Everything went black.

"Captain MacTavish!"

A new voice brought Soap back to his senses. He was thrashing around in what seemed to be a hospital bed, but the room was far from a clinical patient room. The walls were pretty much plain cave walls and the equipment lying around was consisting more of weapons and battle gear than medical instruments.

"Captain?"The voice called again, quieter and hesitant, and Soap moved his eyes to the man standing next to him. First, he recognized Archer, and then he recognized that the man was holding his hand on the Captain's arm, probably to wake him up from his assumed nightmare.

"Archer? What are you doing here?" Soap questioned after taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He vaguely noticed he was covered in sweat and all bandaged up.

"Sir, I just came with Ozone," Archer started with an uncertain voice, worriedly observing the Captain's scared expression. "We managed to escape Shepherd and his men..."

Soap pushed himself to a sitting position and looked around. _That's right._ After their last missions with Task Force 141 had gone to hell, Soap and Price had found a hiding place at Nikolai's. Through some difficulties they had managed to get in contact with Archer and arranged a safe way for them to come hiding as well – if they were able to reach the rendezvous point, that is.

"I... uhm..." Archer shifted uncomfortably and looked down to the ground. "I was coming over to see how you were doing when I heard you... uh, shout in your sleep, Sir."

Soap looked at his bandaged chest. "Oh." He quickly recalled the dream and would've felt ashamed if it hadn't been for the piercing pain shooting through him.

"We tried to save them," Archer said quietly, almost talking to himself.

"No matter," Soap said bluntly. "We were all betrayed."

Archer nodded his head. "Sir..."

There was an awkward silence. Then Soap caught a glimpse of something the sniper's was clearly trying to hide behind his back.

"What's that?" the Captain asked, leaning a little closer, ignoring the pain coming from his battle wounds.

"Oh. It's... It's his gear..." Archer mumbled and reluctantly showed the items to the Captain. Hearing the man shouting for Ghost in his nightmares had made the sniper regret his decision of bringing the things to him but it was too late to take them back now.

Soap felt his blood turn to ice as he saw the badly burned balaclava and the broken, blood-stained glasses.

"I think Price wanted to see me..." Archer quickly lied and gave the items to the stunned Captain. Without another word, the sniper left the room.

Soap didn't even notice him going. His fingers trailed along the skull-pattern, stopping to the burned edge. "Simon..." he barely let out a sound, the pain gripping his heart tightly again. He cringed and squished the fabric into his fist. In his line of profession losing comrades was almost normal and he'd come to terms with that long age. He never showed pain, he never shed tears and he never got too attached to a person.

Ghost had been an exception. He had been the only one Soap had ever trusted enough to let get close to him, and this was the result. They worked together for years, shared their darkest thoughts, and trusted each other with their lives. But Soap had failed. The battered sunglasses reminded him that he hadn't been able to protect Ghost. Reminded him that he hadn't been able to protect the _one single soul_ on the planet who had _always_ been there for him, even now, after his worst failure.

"_Pull yourself together, will ya?"_

The words came back to Soap's mind and he rapidly glanced around the room, hoping so much it hurt to see the speaker again, even if it meant accepting a questionable mental state at best. But the room was and stayed empty. He pulled his legs to his chest and rested his head against his knees.

_Why? It doesn't matter anymore._

"_For me."_

_And how in the bloody world can I pull myself together now, Simon?_

"_C'mon, you'll figure something out."_

_I won't. I can't!_

"_You're John MacTavish."_

_Not _**the**_ John MacTavish, not without you._

"_You can survive anything."_

_Why didn't you? Why am I still here instead of you?_

There was no echo-from-the-dream answer. Soap let out a low, pained growl and threw the keepsakes with full force at the closed door, not getting any satisfaction from the sound of glass cracking. He took a shaky breath and slumped down to the bed. He'd get them. He'd hunt down every single one of those men who had worked with Shepherd. He'd hunt them down from the edge of the world and he'd make them pay. Every one of Shepherd's contacts, right-hand-men, supporters, business partners. Whoever said revenge doesn't work was deadly wrong.

Soap stared at the ceiling with half-closed eyes for a long time, coming up with the most horrible ways of butchering a man he could think of. But as much as he tried to indulge the anger in him, he quickly became exhausted. He didn't have the strength to be raging, not now, and the lack of energy soon forced him to shut his watering eyes.

_I miss you, Simon._

The image of the Lieutenant flashed before his eyes. He wasn't wearing his mask or glasses.

_I miss you so goddamn much._

The clear blue eyes looked straight back at him. _"I know."_

Soap buried his head in the pillow and tightened his fist so hard his fingernails dug deep into his palm.

"I love you..." the Captain murmured so quietly it couldn't have been heard even if someone had sat right next to him. "I love you, Simon..." _You know that right? Did I ever even tell you...?_

Simon closed his eyes and smiled sorrowfully with a barely visible nod. _"I love you too, John."_

And with that, John's world turned silent and black again.


End file.
